


New Dawn

by MidoriEyes



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adoribull - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Dorian, Demons, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Slash, Slow Build, Smut, Trans Male Character, Virgin Sacrifice, midorieyes, new dawn, top!bull
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:57:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidoriEyes/pseuds/MidoriEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tevinter chooses a sacrifice every year to send to the long feared demon of the mountain, and this time it happens to be Dorian Pavus who is the next unwilling victim. But is this so-called “demon” really as terrible as legend says, or is there something else going on up on that lonely mountain top?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nove Aurora

**Author's Note:**

> This will be my first chapter heavy Adoribull fic. :) Not sure how long it will be yet, and I might add more stuff in the tags as I go along. Things I CAN tell you are this: 1) it will have a happy ending because I cannot possibly have it any other way, and 2) some aspects of canon will stay the same, and others won't. Just FYI.
> 
> Thanks for checking out my story~! Feedback is greatly appreciated. <3
> 
> [If you'd like to see more adoribull stuff from me, visit my tumblr at midorieyes.tumblr.com.]

"Do you need anything before I depart, Sir Pavus?" 

"Hmm, yes! How  about a nice bottle of Rowan's Rose, an assortment of  candied nuts, and, ohhhh I don't know... some chance that I might livepast my thirties, perhaps? Just as a start, mind you."

The escort had turned his attention to un knotting the rope connecting their mounts  during his charge's  long-winded diatribe. It was a different kind of hot air from the usual blubbering and begging the others  would direct  into his tunic -  eyes wet, hands clenching, desperate for a way out to the point of  offering a staggering amount of coin for their lives, neither of which they had the rights to any  longer, not after being chosen for the  Nove Aurora. People were little more than slaves at that point, something that Dorian Pavus, born and bred  Tevinter mage and heir to House Pavus, refused to accept even at death's door.

"You've been provided with a day's meal that should sustain until you reach your destination," the escort continued after Dorian's tirade had ended, voice as infuriatingly even keel as it ever was. "If you're in need of more water, there will be a well halfway up the trail where you can refill your  skin. Other than that, you're responsible for your own rations  should you choose to dally."

"I'm sure starving wouldn't be any worse than whatever fate awaits me on that great rock," Dorian mutters, eyeing the mountain that overlooked Tevinter like a giant, looming thorn that had embedded itself in the city's skin beyond all hope of retrieval.

"I assume you know of the procedure from here on, Sir  Pavus. I take my leave, you follow the red markers all the way up the mountain pass, and keep going until you reach Siren's Court. There, you will find a bell which you must ring three times before sunset this evening in order for the ritual to begin. Failure to do so by this time will result in swift  actio \-- "

"Yes, yes." Dorian rubbed his temples as if he were listening to one of his former tutors. This was just a mite less bearable. "They send up a couple of goons to track me down, knock me out, and deliver me to the beast's doorstep all nicely packaged with a big, shiny bow. Please, Gerard, spare me the age old lecture, would you? Maker  knows we've all heard it more times than one can count. "

It was true, everyone in the empire knew how the whole charade worked: take a randomly chosen male or female virgin youth, shower them with magic-induced  bath salts and cleansing teas for an entire week  to flush out all bodily toxins, adorn them in the finest Tevinter-tailored robes, and, after those seven blissful days of nothing but pampering and preparation, send them on their merry way to be  taken by a terrifying demon of great size and power, appropriately named Perussi.

_ Consumer. _

In doing this on the last day before the new year, Tevinter would continue to prosper until the next  Nove Aurora, free of hardship, and free from the possibility that this proclaimed "monster" would come out of its lair and unleash due punishment upon their land for neglecting to follow through with a sacrifice. Thus,  the process would repeat itself to prevent such a catastrophe from happening.

Although the week long spa treatment was pleasant and left Dorian feelin g warm and loose-limbed, he never missed an opportunity to voice his disapproval of this year's choice in young,  virgin sacrifice. It wasn't so much that he was a virgin, having returned late to his estate much too debauched  and on multiple occas ions for such a thing to be true, and it wasn't that his age was closer to mid-life crisis than it was to prime. After all,  being sacrificed to a demon was crisis enough, if Dorian was being brutally honest.

What bothered him was that he shouldn't have been in the running to begin with. The name Pavus had weight, enough to exemplify him from being pulled  out of a hat along with the lower-middle class that normally filled the ballots. People of importance were never selected for the  Nove Aurora, as much as the nobles implied that there was no discrimination when it came to the drawing (everyone knew that was complete and utter bullshit), and when this year's spokesperson, typically a magister, had announced Dorian Pavus as the next "savior" of their fair city, it had  been a surprise to all. It was particularly jarring to magister Halward Pavus, who couldn't help from  stuttering his own son's name in front of an elite  council of twenty, obviously not expecting the results to involve his own  flesh and blood. It had been Dorian's first time to attend this meeting, and though he enjoyed being the center of attention in most cases, he would have rathered  tread through the Hissing Wastes barefoot than suffocate under the pointed  stares of Tevinter's most prominent lords and ladies that day.

Halward immediately suspected sabotage against the Pavus family, and did everything in his power to find out how this came to be, and who was responsible. Dorian couldn't do much from his position, partially because he had no real standing to pull strings like his father, and partially because he'd been whisked away by the servants for sacrificial prepping almost as soon as his name was called.  Regrettably, after three straight days of searching for a culprit, a loop hole, anything to prevent Dorian from becoming just another name on the list of sacrifices that involuntarily gave their lives to protect an empire from ruin, Halward was forced to give up. The law was absolute; once you were chosen, there was no backing out, no matter your title or your lineage. Apparently, the fact that Dorian had already been "deflowered", as the council  put it so lightly, wasn't an issue since the time they  incidentally sent another non-virgin to the beast of the mountain, but received no objection for it. And as for age, well... Dorian was certainly pretty enough for thirty-two.

So, if anything, Dorian had a reason to be bitter about this ordeal, to scoff and moan and winge about the unfair circumstances that lead him to the mouth of the mountain, ready and waiting to swallow him up whenever he was done with the theatrical stalling . He was only going to be alive for another twenty-four hours anyway. Why not throw one last tantrum while there was someone still around to witness it? Granted, Gerard wasn't exactly the last face Dorian wished to see before his untimely demise, but it was better than facing his parents, who hadn't even turned up at his official send-off from the city, probably too embarrassed to be seen in public with their, essentially, exiled heir. No doubt they were off finding  someone to replace him,  lest they actually  wanted to end the Pavus reign  here and now. Perhaps he'd escape the clutches of his to-be captor and return to find a demon look-a-like walking around in his shoes - the very idea! Dorian wasn't sure he'd put it past his mother and father, however.

What a Maker forsaken mess he'd been thrown into.

"Any last words you'd like me to impart upon your kin, Sir Pavus?"

No mention of friends, though it wasn't such a mystery that Dorian's list of friends, if you could even call  them that, failed to cover even half of his palm.  He pursed his lips in thought before grabbing the reigns of his horse and settling in for the day long ride ahead. "Do rude gestures count? I have quite a few I'd like to hand out personally, but seeing as that's now impossible, perhaps you could be my courier, Gerard? Although, they probably wouldn't tip you very well."

A slow  blink from his escort, equivalent to that of an exasperated sigh, was all Dorian got in reply.

"Right. Well, let's keep it short and sweet then, shall we? Make sure you get all this, yes?"

Gerard reached into his satchel and pulled out a loose piece of parchment and charcoal to hastily write  whatever final message he had for those back home, but before he could situate himself, there was a clink of metal as  Dorian's horse was spurred into a gallop towards the mountain pass, leaving a swirl of pale dust in its wake. Gerard took a step back and watched as the former heir of House Pavus drew closer to the spotted tree line, and, ultimately, his final hours in this world.

"Sir Pavus!" The escort turned messenger shouted at the retreating white robes billowing off the back of Dorian's mount. "Your message!? "

It was faint against the distant pounding of hooves, but there was no mistaking the three words spat into the air behind him .

_ "Fuck you all!" _


	2. The Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's troubles truly begin once he reaches Siren's Court.

The trek up Mount Tenebris was deceptively charming, with its little sprigs of wild flowers along the winding dirt path, cool breezes, and twittering song birds chasing each other in the dappled canopy of the trees. Who could ever believe that this quaint, country road lead to a blood-thirsty beast intent on devouring the innocent youth of Tevinter one year at a time? Then again, perhaps Perussi had a hobby in landscaping. No one had ever actually met the demon and returned to tell the tale. For all anyone knew, Perussi carried itself as a human would, spending the other 364 days of their time in the mountain reading, gardening, or hosting grand soirees other than the Nove Aurora.

The only assured truth spoken of this mysterious fiend was that the sacrifices were never seen nor heard from again after those three ominous rings drifted down from Siren's Court at dusk. Dorian had always sent up a silent prayer for the poor sod whose life had been cut painfully short by decades of an unhealthy mix between traditional Tevinter fear mongering, and the commercialization of what was meant to be a holy day glamorized into a holiday. People actually held dinner parties during Nove Aurora just for the sake of bringing out the good wine, and no one would give it a second thought because, of course, this was Tevinter, drinking capital of Thedas. Dorian had whispered the same prayers for himself plenty of times while the servants were scrubbing fruity tonics into his hair and massaging his legs for the coming ritual ("tenderizing" was more fitting, he'd decided), but the only incantations upon his lips now were a set of unsavory expletives commanding the babbling brooks nearby to shut up.

Dorian hadn't stopped by the well as Gerard had suggested, his waterskin still taut from this morning's fill, but instead came to a small pool that carried one half of a stream to the next. He let his horse drink and rest for a quarter of an hour before continuing up the pass marked with red, idly wondering why they'd gone through the trouble of coloring these pieces of cloth with an expensive brand of dye when only one person got to see them each year. He yanked a few from their stakes as replacement handkerchiefs for the one he accidentally left behind, not caring how long they'd been planted there; Dorian didn't want to spend his last day alive sniffling and sneezing up a storm if he happened upon a thicket of stripweed. What would dear Perussi think of him in such a dreary state?

Another round of brooding, and simultaneous snacking on the cheese he'd grabbed from his pack, and Dorian was quite done with it all. Sitting around feeling sorry for himself and cursing at everything that moved wasn't going to spirit him away from the problem. He eased up on his mare's reigns to bring her to a steady trot, allowing himself time to think.

If he really wanted to find a way out of this, it was now or never. Sure, a handful of other sacrifices had tried escaping the same fate and were promptly booted back up the mountain by the ever vigilant Tevinter guard, but Dorian was a mage of exceptional prowess. He could certainly fend for himself if he opted to commit treason.

That is, unless, the council took into consideration the (former) Pavus heir's skills and sent their not-so-secret team of blood mages to slap a mental leash and collar on him. That was almost too real a probability, the more Dorian mulled over it.

Plan B was equally as disenchanting. Any way he traveled would eventually lead to the borders of Tevinter, which were heavily monitored, day and night, and none too accommodating when it came to rogue mages. They could see through every trick in the book with all the runes and barriers they had plastered around the empire. There was also no guarantee he'd make it as far as the border, at least not before he was hunted down and manhandled (as much as he typically enjoyed that) to Perussi's feeding grounds by the few spymasters that dared infiltrate the mountainside at great risk to their own lives.

"I suppose I'll have to live the rest of my days as a decrepit, old, mountain hermit. If I go on a nug meat diet then maybe I'll be too dried up and leathery for Perussi to chew. You wouldn't mind keeping me company during these bleak times, would you, Delilah?" Dorian rubbed his hand down the tight muscle of the horse's neck, who merely jerked her head a little in response. "I expected as much."

Midday trickled into late afternoon, and with Dorian's only foreseeable plan for not dying consisting of taking this man-eating demon head on in combat, however futile that proved to be, he decided to spend the last three hours until sunset going through the items on his bucket list that never came to fruition - traveling the world, trying hot cocoa, starting a revolution in his homeland whenever he took over his father's title. Dorian was just mildly disappointed that he wouldn't have at least one assassination attempt under his belt; every good magister did. Such a missed opportunity...

However, as his dear mother would always say, "those who dream during the day will never see the knife in their back when they wake". Leading Tevinter into a bright, new age free of slavery and the whole virgin sacrifice drama was a fantastic idea, but a fantasy it would remain. Dorian's sexual proclivities, of all things, would have prevented him from getting that far in the long run. Halward would've seen to that, no doubt.

Oh yes, he knew of his son's interests, stating at every chance how fickle these feelings were, how there was no future for him if he continued to act upon these fade-tainted desires. It often became fuzzy whose future the man was truly referring to.

Ah. There he goes again, thinking about things he'd rather not dwell on in his final hours.

There was nothing left on the road behind Dorian now, and his future grew ever smaller with each step Deliliah took up Mount Tenebris. He could barely see her peak through the trees sudden swelling in this area, although the approaching evening allowed some harsh oranges and golds to sneak onto the shrouded pathway.

The time was drawing nearer. If his last act in the living world was to challenge this legendary demon with a slim chance of sparing his people the same ghastly fate year after year, then Dorian would gladly die trying, with great reserve to the "gladly" and "dying" part. It was a bitter tonic to swallow, but who better equipped than the only mage that had ever been chosen for the ritual?

The closeness of the mountain's foliage was starting to become borderline claustrophobic, but, at last, an end was in sight. Dorian sighed with relief once he'd broken through the tree line, a sigh that was quickly choked once he saw what lay ahead. It was a beautiful clearing, filled with tall grass that shimmered against the wind like a gentle seashore, and butterflies the size of Dorian's fist, their wings a tapestry of blues, greens, and purples. In the center of it all was a collection of crystal grace that had wound itself around a cylindrical stone base stained with moss, and above that, held by two beams of wood that looked far too rotted for function, was a tarnished, brass bell - _the_ bell.

Dorian took in the scenery around him, so picturesque it might as well have come from an Orelsian oil painting, and now knew why they named this place Siren's Court.

"This is to be my grave, is it? Well, it's not exactly the marble tomb surrounded by anatomically pleasing statues of myself that I'd conjured as a youth, but I don't suppose I have many options now, do I."

Ever so carefully, Dorian threw one leg behind him and eased off of Delilah's saddle, scanning his immediate field of vision from what little the garden's entrance had to offer. He kept his hands on the mare's side and listened for anything other than the quintessential hum of wildlife he'd grown so used to on his journey upward, though, if indeed there was something amiss, whatever evils lurking in the waning sunlight did well at making themselves unknown.

A nugget of fear bloomed in Dorian's stomach, the first he'd felt since his name had been called at the council last week. Everything leading up to this moment had been so surreal, as if he weren't really walking towards his own destruction, or that, like the twists that so excited him in a rousing piece of literature, he would somehow bypass the danger before him and live on to see the next day. Dorian's life was everything but a fairytale, though. Why he thought his luck would change now was beyond him.

Like a halla straying out into open fields, Dorian left the cover of his steed to traverse the short distance between he and the Maker-be-damned bell, eyes darting from side to side for... well, he had no clue. What could one expect from a demon's lair, after all, especially one so self-aware that it followed a schedule. Perussi couldn't be just a mindless beast like most Rage or Hunger demons were, which lead Dorian to a tricky idea. If it possessed some form of intelligence, mayhaps it could be reasoned with? The stupidity of making deals with demons was on par with rolling yourself in raw meat and waltzing into a den of ravenous wolves, and surely he wouldn't be the first to try and chat their way out of becoming dinner, but where Dorian failed at certain physical or magical abilities, he more than made up for with his silver tongue. What else did he have to lose, besides the obvious?

Dorian reached the bell all too quickly and paused for a good few minutes just examining it, like one would a subpar work of art. Dingy, rusted, weatherworn - oddly enough, not what he'd pictured. Dorian felt a tad insulted, honestly. And yet, if it were kept polished and reflective, would that alter his impression of it? The appearance of a bell wasn't so significant compared to the sound it made and what manifested afterward. As long as it rang three times before nightfall, there was little else about this bell that mattered. The fact that such a drab thing might signal his end was more than a little irritating.

No. He had a plan or two. Best not to discard hope just yet. Either way, it had to be rung.

Dorian slowly took hold of the frayed rope to his right, testing the give with a light yank, and let out the breath he'd been holding as he pulled.

_CLANG_

One.

_CLANG_

Two.

_CLANG_

Three.

Dorian had been counting out loud, but he didn't notice. The only thing he was aware of was how long the last ring carried its sound throughout the clearing, a constant vibration buzzing within his skull like a jar full of bees. He stood absolutely still, forbidding a single part of him to so much as twitch until the low tide of panic settled underneath his skin.

After the bell's ring finally died, his hearing no longer impaired, Dorian waited and listened for something to change. It was still as peaceful as it had been when he arrived, and, as far as he could see, no one else had joined him, nor was some great menace trampling its way down the mountain to gobble him up. It was just quiet. Very quiet.

Unnaturally quiet.

The bell had distracted him from the devastating silence that had befallen Siren's Court. It was as if someone had flipped a switch, and all time had stopped. The wind, the animals, even the brooks that wouldn't shut up from before - nothing.

He hadn't come here completely alone though, had he? Dorian turned to see where he'd left Delilah by the forest edge, briefly wondering if he'd find her between the jaws of... whatever he'd be facing.

Worse, she was gone. There was no sign of his mount anywhere, nor had he heard her leave. If Dorian was nervous before, the anxiety he felt now was nearly crippling.

Would he be swallowed up, too, then? Dragged into the Fade like Delilah, which seemed the only possible explanation for her abrupt absence? How could he fight something unseen?

_Trapped by the unknown; waiting, yet wanting to flee._

_Damned if I stay, damned if I go back._

_Caged._

_Stifling._

_So much I couldn't fix._

_I cannot die now._

"She is alright, you know."

Dorian jumped. His thoughts had been spilling into speech, but it wasn't really him who was speaking, was it? Since when did ones mind speak for itself, unless he was under the influence of the demon already? No, his body was still his own, as was his mind. There was someone else here, talking, talking to... him?

A hot burst of adrenaline shot through Dorian's body as he moved after what felt like hours, whipping around to see where he thought he'd heard that voice. And then, his eyes caught a wisp of something he would have missed completely had he not blinked a second time. The figure was tall, willowy, and shrouded by a large, rimmed hat that obscured them from the neck up. The clothes were more plain, consisting of simple leggings and a thick-threaded tunic that had been patched more than once with material of a different color. But something was off. Dorian could either take this simple-looking traveler at face value, or he could heed the tension in his bones and prepare himself for an oncoming storm.

After he was done assessing, Dorian managed to recall what the stranger had said to him. "I beg your pardon?", he replied, voice halting and cautious.

"Delilah. She was scared by the bell, so I led her away."

"D... Deli... How did you--" Dorian fumbled, unable to process whatever madness he'd stepped into.

"She didn't want to leave you, but I reassured her." The boy absently skimmed his hand over a vine climbing up one of the trees next to him. "I told her you would be safe, and so would she."

It took Dorian considerable effort not to stutter again. "Safe?"

A troubled sigh. "You are distressed. I am sorry. My presence, it... upsets most people. It was the same for the others."

Others. "What 'others'," he asks. Silence, for a moment, and Dorian swears he can feel those familiar pin pricks in his mind from before, when this stranger had been speaking to, or rather for, him. "You couldn't possibly be..."

_Unexpected, or unpredictable?_

_My eyes see, but I've played this game before._

_It speaks as if it knows me. It is false._

_A mask._

_It will not lure me._

_It will not tempt me._

"Okay, whatever you're doing, just..." Just what? Stop? Was that a reasonable request when it came to demons, or whatever this was?

"It will be easier to explain if you come with me, Dorian Pavus."

Oh, that was a fine idea. "I'm rather disinclined to do that, mind you."

"I want to help, not hurt." The creature lifted his head so that the hat no longer hid him from view. Dorian caught the last two words moving on the boy's chapped lips, pulling at pale skin that was stretched too thin over hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. He almost didn't notice the swath of platinum hair for how close it matched his complexion. "Delilah is still worried about you."

Dorian shrugged. "And you know this because you, what, sat down for tea and cookies with my horse?"

"I can hear her, not in the way you hear, but all the same. Her fear called out to me, as did yours. Your voice is very loud to me."

"Oh, well, excuse me for the volume at which I think my own, private thoughts," Dorian huffed.

"Please. All will become clear if we go now."

The brittle tenor of its voice struck a chord in Dorian's more trusting heart strings, which he promptly smothered before it surfaced. He hardened his brow and crossed his arms in an effort to keep down other emotions threatening to reveal themselves. "You expect me to follow someone who stole my horse, up a dark mountain pass to Maker knows where?"

"I am called Cole, and you do not have to be afraid of me. However, I'm not very good at comforting people. That is why we must leave."

A name, though not the one Dorian was expecting. "Your logic is questionable, to put it lightly, Cole. What will I find if I were to follow you, then?"

"Freedom," Cole breathed, the sincerity on his face too raw, too open, as he said it. "Or, at least, that's what I hear them say."

Now there was the mystery of who "them" was. This Cole fellow was like a puzzle board with too many pieces and no place to put them. Dorian always was a slave to his own curiosity, though, and the tug had only grown stronger as they talked. That didn't mean he wouldn't be on his guard if he complied, but, loathed as Dorian was to admit it, the sense of imminent danger after sounding his death knell had pretty much vanished. It could be a trick, beguiling him into a more pliable state. Cole could be an illusion of the Fade meant to escort him to where Perussi was awaiting his evening meal. There were multiple ways this whole thing could go deeply south, and not enough answers to keep Dorian's head above water.

Ah, screw it. He wasn't grasping at straws, yet.

"In that case," Dorian started, a bit of incredulous humor coloring his speech once more, "what are we waiting for?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Cole. Spirit of the mountain.
> 
> :)


	3. In the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian throws a tantrum and receives the worst time out of his life.

If Dorian didn't know any better, he would think this demon sacrifice hullabaloo was all a big ruse. Never once was he told that some sickly teenager would be his personal guide up an abandoned mountain path to lands uncharted. It certainly wasn't an adventure this particular mage would care to repeat.  

Dorian had been following this so-called "Cole" until the deep colors of night started bleeding into Tevinter's paler sunset, leaving the road visible still, but leaching his vision of anything that might hide itself in the shadier pockets of trees and shrubbery. Being anywhere near Mount Tenebris at this hour was asking for trouble of the lethal kind, whether by wolves, bandits, or the occasional giant that had strayed north of Thedas. Magic could only make Dorian feel so safe when the proverbial ball was so agonizingly far out of his court, it was practically in Ferelden.  

Since striking up a conversation with Cole didn't seem to ease any of Dorian's tensions earlier, nor did it give him a lick of insight as to what was in store, he found it more prudent to just keep to himself. The boy could read minds anyway; no point in repeating himself, so to speak. Whatever Cole was, he didn't seem like the type to eat people, and that was a plus, in Dorian's book.  

A muffled growl that sounded like the creaking of an old bed erupted from his stomach. Speaking of eating...  

Dorian pulled out the half bitten bread he'd saved in his robes, a bit disappointed that he couldn't pair it with the cheese and olives stowed away in his missing horse's saddle bag at the moment, and tore off a piece to nibble on. As he ate, Dorian couldn't help thinking this was the last meal he might ever have. Technically, a final supper had already been bestowed upon him back home on the night before his departure. Roast pheasant curry with jasper rice, six different kinds of artisan breads, twenty cheeses, finely dressed greens, biscuits slathered in cream and mango jam, and some of the empire's most succulent fruits picked that morning - all presented before the Pavus family sacrifice in a colorful topography of edible treats and trimmings. Even his birthdays had never provided him with such a feast. It was almost heart-warming, if not for the fact that he was going to die the next day.  

Dorian's eyes studied the boy walking ahead of him. Certainly, Cole had never known the joy of licking beef kabob grease off his fingers, or basking in the aftertaste of a good vintage wine. If the lad's pale skin and hair weren't glaring enough, his thinned physique would tell you right off that he was anything but Tevinter. "Vints", as they were so fondly referred to by foreigners, kept themselves as trim as trees, their secret weapons being diet and rigid fashion choices that cheated the human eye of potential flaws. Cole's body, however, was skinny in a way that screamed of the fatted-cat life he grew up  _not_  having. Even most homeless children had more meat on their bones than he did.  

"Would you like some?" Dorian offered, holding out a chunk of bread, which merely happened to be the remaining amount he had left. If Cole was indeed a demon in sheep's clothing, perhaps his hunger could be curbed; introduce him to the delights of non-human byproducts.  

"I do not eat."  

Well, that answered and simultaneously formulated some questions. "Ah. I suppose it's not for everyone, then." Dorian slowly lifted the bread to his mouth and took another bite, eyes narrowing. If this boy didn't start making sense soon, he would be fit to throttle something. Even those insufferable, stiff-armed noblewomen that spent all their time gossiping and squalling like a pack of peacocks at dinner parties were never this cryptic.  

But, just as soon as Dorian was about to do more digging, the corner in the path they'd come around revealed a most daunting wall of rock that stretched skyward on all sides.  

A dead end. This didn't bode well.  

Cole kept walking towards the cliff face as if the thing hadn't been there to begin with, which only unsettled Dorian further. The route's abrupt end was clearly expected by at least one of them, putting the mage at a serious disadvantage in knowing what events would unfold next.  

"I assume this is where my journey ends and you'll be off to fetch our gracious host, yes? Tell me - would he prefer I be trussed up like a stuck pig with an apple in my mouth, or as is?" Dorian asked, the muscles around his eyes that had relaxed during their short trip here going rigid once more.  

The boy looked back at him then, face the picture of ghostly innocence, but Dorian knew better. It was all so simple now! Why wouldn't the demon of the mountain have a couple of slaves to do his bidding, to lead its victims into a false sense of security, and hand them over on a silver platter afterwards? It wasn't a strange idea, especially if Perussi had been soaking up Tevinter culture all these decades. There were many things about Cole that Dorian could not begin to explain, but this was the one theory he refused to believe as anything other than fact.  

"Sorry," Cole replied in a truly dejected voice. "I gave the apples away. It made the soldier happy, though, so don't worry. He's in a better place now."  

"...O...kay?" Literally no part of that inexplicable answer gave Dorian the warm fuzzies that Cole so wanted to share with him. 

"It's only a little further now." Cole continued toward the westernmost side of the wall where a thick curtain of rashvine deluged from one of the many craggy veins embedded in the stone. It didn't look very inviting, and yet Dorian allowed himself to be beckoned for whatever malicious reasons the kid might have in mind. To his surprise, Cole casually stuck his arm into the nest of angry red tendrils and pulled it back, disregarding any ill effects the plant might have upon his skin. Dorian breathed in sharply through his nose when he felt a sudden draft of cool air roll over his face from a tunnel that lay hidden only moments before. Clever, to use rashvine as a cover. No one would deign to go near the stuff unless they were a very avid herbalist. 

"The front door, then. Or is it the back? I admit, I was expecting something a bit more grandiose. Your master strikes such an imposing figure in legend, after all." 

The boy pinned Dorian with a dead-eyed stare, still holding the rashvine out of their way. 

"But having a modest décor isn't something to scoff at either." Why do I even bother, Dorian thought as he ducked through the opening and into a larger, cavernous space dotted with deep mushroom clusters.  

He waited for Cole to take the lead again before stepping through the cave. Cold, dark, stifling; his imaginings of what Perussie's lair would look like were beginning to match the reality. At least it didn't smell of troll shit, nor were the walls painted with a gory mural of human viscera. That had to count for something. 

The deeper they traveled into the tunnel, the chillier it got, which did nothing to soothe the other chill crawling up Dorian's spine. He wasn't sure how much more anticipation he could take. First the bell, then the boy, and now a secret passage into the mountain. What next - a society of walking, talking nugs with their own little nug king? 

Dorian flinched when he heard the tell-tale trill, followed by a little pink pudgeball waddling by his feet. 

Maker, please spare him this madness. 

"Oh!" 

The high-pitched outburst nearly made Dorian's knees buckle from surprise. He turned with wide eyes to his willowy companion, waiting for some sort of follow-up explanation. There was no danger as far as he could see, besides being in a dark cave with a complete stranger. 

When Dorian received no such context, he prompted Cole's far off look back to the forefront with a sharp yet hushed, "What!" 

"She's scared. It bites at her feet. She tries to get away, but it only makes it worse." 

"Who?" Dorian asked, exasperated by all the mystery he's had to endure for one day. Cole's gaze met his, almost impossible to distinguish beneath his drooping hat if not for the sickly glow of some nearby deep mushrooms, reflecting off his eyes and giving them the appearance of two milky glass marbles. 

"I need to go to her. Please don't leave." 

"Wh--" 

And within a single blink, his guide was gone. 

In this moment, Dorian felt many things - fear, anxiety, confusion, a bit of frustration - but among all other feelings was the distinct, bubbling heat of outrage. This loon had strung him along all the way up the mountain, sore legs and blisters galore, leads him into the ass end of the dreariest cave he has ever had the pleasure of visiting, and the boy decides to take a last minute raincheck as if Dorian were luggage dropped at the door? The sheer audacity! 

It was the straw that broke the druffalo's back. Dorian's throat rumbled in anger, lips curled and teeth clenched to form the most cantankerous scowl as he stomped off towards the cavern wall, kicking the gravel beneath his boots. His robes spun and caught the hazy light of the fungi, making his wardrobe look fade-touched and otherworldly. He sneered as the material and, in a better-late-than-never fit of rebelliousness, grabbed the hem and ripped it up to his hip. He continued this deconstruction of his attire until the brown of his under-armor was exposed and strips of white hung from his body as if he'd been attacked by a mabari war hound. By the time he came back to himself, Dorian looked like a right state of disheveled; fingers sore from all the tearing, hair swept in different directions, breathing harsh. He didn't need a mirror to know his good work. 

_Why was this happening to him?_  Dorian had asked himself this question at least a hundred times in the span of seven days, but now the need to know was more palpable than ever. The pomp and circumstance leading up to the sacrifice was one thing, but this was just getting ridiculous. There was no way the other chosen youth had gone through the same thing as he. No. The universe simply liked to fuck with Dorian Pavus. No reason or rhyme to it. 

Well enough was enough. 

Dismissing Cole's earlier suggestion (it certainly hadn't been a command, after all he did say please), Dorian walked farther into the cave, intent on getting to the bottom of this absurdity whether it meant his death or not. He had a few choice words for Mr. Big Bad Demon, if he even really existed at this point. 

His doubts were all too quickly eradicated as soon as he heard the soft scrapes of another pair of boots echoing from down the tunnel. 

Dorian stilled, wanting to make sure it wasn't just his own feet carrying sound. The noise continued and was soon followed by a poorly illuminated form shifting in the blackness beyond. 

Kaffas. 

_Kaffas._  

Of course, just when he finally gained a smidgen of confidence back, Andraste saw fit to take it all away again. Can't have Dorian getting too comfortable, can we? Best to keep him on the constant edge of terror at every turn. 

His experience in Siren's Court came rushing back, the joints in his arms and legs tensing into a state of fight or flight as the humanoid shape came closer. For a brief instant, Dorian wondered if it was Cole returning from whatever undertaking he'd been called to do, but then the figure spoke. 

"Who's there?" 

A smooth tenor, clear and strong, rang through the passage like the acoustics of a chantry. Dorian squinted, as if that would help him see better in the organic light. Was this Perussi? He appeared rather small for a demon, but it would be silly to assume that this was its true form. 

Before Dorian could answer, the voice chimed a second time. "Cole? Is that you?" 

Ah, so he knew the boy. That settled it. If this new character wasn't the head honcho himself, then he'd at least be another ghoulish servant that could tell Dorian what the void was going on around here. With an air of superiority he only used when feeling severely unsure of himself, Dorian helped shorten the distance between them, talking as he did so. 

"Your friend had other plans, unfortunately. Do you often leave your guests to fend for themselves when you invite them to dinner? That surely won't win you any points in the Game."The figure stopped dead, straightening to full height, which only made them a little more intimidating than before. 

"In fact, you run a rather poor establishment altogether. I demand to see the person and/or demon in charge, or I shall kindly escort myself to the exit." 

"...Who are you?" It was asked less like a question and more like a demand. 

"Oh bother. Can't you people afford decent lighting in this place," Dorian mumbled, putting his palm face up to conjure a single wisp of fire. 

The flames revealed a young, freckled, very much human face of a man decked in leathers and light armor. He didn't have the unhealthy complexion of Dorian's former guide, and if the mage had to bet on it he'd say this lad was also of Tevinter, the accent being a pretty good indicator. Dorian wasn't able to scrutinize much more, though, as a hot, searing pain rippled from his chest to every corner of his body, causing him to cry out. The shock was so jarring that he lost his hold on the wisp, plunging them into familiar darkness, which in turn dulled the burning sensation under his skin. 

"Venhedis!" Dorian shook out his hand, thinking the fire might have been the culprit, though it was highly unlikely. "What in the--" 

Once again he was cut off, but this time it was a long, pointy weapon that did the trick. Dorian would have been fully skewered had he not seen the flash of the blade sooner, wielded expertly by the snarling man in front of him. There was no time to ask questions while avoiding a constant stream of thrusts and swipes, but Dorian had a hunch that his new friend was quite done with idle chatter. 

"I think we're getting off on the wrong foot here," he yelled over the grunting and shuffling of feet. "I understand it would be easier to cut me up into bite-sized pieces," another dodge, "but aren't we being a bit hasty? Surely, there's more than once course to this whole affair?" 

When the warrior made no sign of stopping, or that he was listening at all, Dorian huffed out a sigh and widened his stance. "I really hate to do this, but..." He tried calling forth his magic, figuring that a bit of well placed electricity could knock his attacker out cold, no bloodshed involved. The same liquid hot fire that had crawled through his veins from before rendered him unable to cast even a single spark this time. His momentary lapse in awareness allowed the other man's sword to nick his arm, coming away with no more than a surface wound. He might not be so lucky if this kept up. "Oh, bugger." 

Dorian ran. 

He could barely see where he was going, but it was either fumble through the dark like a blind man or be run through. The heavy tromp of armored boots sounded close behind, which gave Dorian a somewhat speedy advantage with his significantly less armored self, nevermind that it would cease to be useful if he happened to take a tumble. 

The sprint back to the entrance seemed like mere seconds compared to the year long journey inward, as Dorian broke through the portière of rashvine, barely managing to cover his face from being whipped by its leafy, red tresses. 

Fresh air! It was a relief to see the sky again after tonight's death defying events, but he couldn't slow down now. That barbarian didn't seem like the type to give up chase in the middle of a hunt. Dorian looked behind him to see that no one else had broken through the foliage just yet, so he took this time to give lightning another try. It had to be that blasted cave barring him from his magic; some sort of demonic enchantment, or sealing runes, Dorian wagered. Whatever was holding him back, he'd make sure to-- 

"Oof!" 

Stone. Solid stone. He'd actually run right into a wall of solid sodding stone. The throbbing ache on the side of his face that had quickly turned to numbness, coupled with his airless lungs - it had to have been a wall. Dorian lay, unmoving on his back until the ringing in his ears subsided, eyes fluttering in an attempt to rid himself of this harrowing triple vision high. There were multiple stone walls now, tall and gray, jagged at the top, with two massive limbs and a ugly combination of stripes going up its pant legs and... 

Wait. 

Rocks didn't wear pants, as far as he knew. 

"Woah, there! Where's the fire?" 

Dorian's focus honed in on the throaty bass of a new voice above him... 

The light of the moon dusted along the top of what looked to be a pair of thick, impressive horns. It spilled into the concave gouges and dents, giving it an eerie texture like that of the sea at midnight. In the middle of them was a face shrouded in shadow, as was the rest of its body - and what a body! The staggering mass made Dorian feel ten times smaller than he'd ever felt in his life, accompanied by long arms and legs, an impossibly thick torso, and those ridiculous trousers, which only just made this encounter a degree below terrifying. 

Dorian hadn't realized he'd frozen, like prey in the sights of its predator, until his breath caught at the sight of a large, imposing ax strapped to the back of this towering beast, smeared with liquid that glistened black in the low light. His stomach dropped out from under him, as Dorian realized that what he once thought was a shadow cast down the front of this thing's body was merely the same substance coating its skin. 

Dorian couldn't move even if he wanted to. Whatever this creature was, there was no doubt it had the means of immobilizing him in whatever way it saw fit. Suddenly, he wished he'd stayed in the cave with that crazed Soporati. At least he would've had a fair chance of survival. 

"Hey, you don't look so good." 

_What a rude thing to say to someone you just met, and look who's talking!_  Dorian thought, before his head lolled back and promptly shut out the rest of the waking world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♫ Hello~ ♪  
> ♪ Is it me you're looking for~ ♫


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